Richie goes, “Nope.”
“See?” I said. “That just leaves you. You’re the one that don’t want him to come. You bum. You hate your little brother.”
Peter couldn’t help laughing. He left and said they’d be back after dinner.
“Great,” I groaned when Peter was gone. “Just great. Here we’re all ready to camp out and we gotta take that little fart with us.” I looked at my brontosaurus, which I was still grabbing by the neck. “Man. This is sure turning out to be a great damn day, ain’t it?”
We got another ice tea and spent the rest of the afternoon grumping and bitching about our bad luck. It was even worse for me than Richie, because I had the two things to complain about: Kippy coming over, plus my dinosaur. I kept switching back and forth. I couldn’t decide which one made me madder.
Then, just before dinner, the two came into my head at the same time and kind of oozed and mixed together, until all of a sudden they weren’t two separate complaints anymore, but one new idea.
I told Richie about it. He loved it. “Kinda like what they did to you at the hayride,” he said. “With the dragon.”
That didn’t occur to me. “Yeah,” I said. “Kinda. And the thing is, we kill two birds with one stone. We teach Timmy a lesson about taking my dinosaurs, and maybe Kippy’ll get scared enough so he won’t want to keep coming around with us anymore.”
“Yeah,” Richie said.
“Yeah,” I said.
Richie ran home for dinner.
My problem now was to get Timmy to come along camping with us. After what I said to my mother about him, I couldn’t exactly tell her I’d love to have him join us. So what I did was, I worked it through him. I passed him on the stairs and whispered, “We’re camping out in the yard tonight and you’re not.” I knew he would take it from there.
All dinner long he bugged my mom and Ham to let him camp outside with us. My mother kept telling him he was too little, all the time giving me these dirty looks. I just ate.
Then after dinner I whispered to him in the living room, “Little Kippy’s coming too.”
Into the kitchen he goes bawling. “Mom-meee! Little Kippy’s coming too!”
I just kind of hung around. I knew sooner or later my mother would want me. In the meantime I just let Timmy do the work.
Finally my mother came out of the kitchen. She kind of plants herself and glares at me for a minute. There’s a dishrag in her hand. “Jason, are you going to let him camp with you tonight?”
I had to be careful not to look too anxious. “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s not my tent.”
“It’s your yard.”
“It’s your yard.”
“Is Kippy Kim coming along tonight with Peter?”
“I guess.”
“Well, is he?”
“Peter said he is.”
“Well then,” she said, “I think Timmy should be allowed to go too.”
She was waiting for my answer.
I shrugged.
“Okay, Timmy,” she said, heading back to the kitchen. “You’re going.”
Timmy goes, “Ya-hoo!”
Yeah, I grin to myself, ya-hoo.
There’s a round, bare patch of ground in the back of our yard. It’s where Timmy had a little plastic wading pool last summer. We put up the tent right alongside the bare patch
The tent was plenty big, and it was really neat inside. It had its own canvas floor and mosquito net at the doorway and all. Richie was the only one with a real sleeping bag. The rest of us made up our own with blankets and sheets and stuff.
Just as I expected, the little kids were a pain. They kept screaming with delight at every little thing, like they were never outside their house before. You would have thought lightning bugs were made of candy, the way they went crazy over them. (God help some poor lightning bug over in Calvin’s yard, I thought.)
They kept nagging us to play their little kiddie games. They jumped on our backs while we were trying to talk, and the more we shook them off the more they came jumping back. Once I felt wet on the back of my neck. Kippy peed himself. If Peter wasn’t there I would have killed him.
Even I was surprised at how bad they were. You’d think they would appreciate being allowed to be with us, and keep their mouths shut and be half good. But no. They had to bug us and climb all over us and tick us off. “Okay,” I kept warning them, “Okay-ay.”
After a while I couldn’t even stand the sight of Kippy’s Phillies cap.
When it got completely dark we all had to stay in the tent. Richie had a lantern. He lit it. My mother brought out some french fries she made in the oven. And some catsup and salt and some Hawaiian Punch.
After a while Richie’s eyes shot open and he goes, “Eeeww, God!”
I knew before I turned to look exactly what it was, because it always happens when you put Timmy and french fries together in the absence of parents. Sure enough, there was Timmy, this big silly grin on his face, sticking the soles of his bare feet out at us, and between each pair of toes was a french fry.
Naturally Kippy had to do it too, and they both thought that was the funniest thing since mud. Pretty soon Richie and Peter are laughing too. They couldn’t help it. I almost couldn’t help it myself. But whenever I felt a laugh ready to pop out, I took a good look at my brontosaurus, which I brought along with me, and I wouldn’t feel like laughing anymore.
I waited till it got pretty late. Us big kids played a game of Monopoly. Then we switched to cards. The little kids were playing with their little green soldiers. I said I had to go to the bathroom and left.
Actually I just went around to the bare patch. The flashlight and Ham’s garden trowel were waiting where I left them. I turned the flashlight onto the bare patch, grabbed the trowel, and started digging.
I could have gone faster, but I had to be quiet so the little kids wouldn’t hear. I dug deep—about six inches—and by the time I was through I used up just about the whole patch. I pushed away the dug-up dirt and made the shape of the hole as clear and sharp as possible, so anybody, even a little kid, taking a look at it could tell right away exactly what it was: a dinosaur footprint.
I stepped back. It was a masterpiece. And a big sucker, all right. Almost scared me. I had to keep shining the flashlight back and forth before it finally covered the whole thing. I stood in the middle of it. Five or six more of me could have stood there too.
I went over near the kitchen door, cupped my hands, and let out a good dinosaur roar. Then I went back to the tent.
The little kids were at the front flap, wanting to look out, but afraid
“Hey, you guys,” I said, acting all excited. “You oughta see what’s on the news on TV!”
Richie said, “What, Jason?”
Peter had a little grin in his eye. We told him we were going to play a little joke on the kids, but we didn’t tell him exactly what. The three of us pretended just to be with ourselves, but we were all watching the little kids out of the corner of our eyes.
I go, “A dinosaur! They were digging coal up north and they came to this humongous cave and at the end of the cave there was this big jungle and all of a sudden this dinosaur comes charging out at them!”
“Man!” said Richie.
“Wow!” said Peter.
By now the little kids were standing right behind me.
“Yeah,” I go, “and the dinosaur ran through the mining town and stomped on all the mine shafts! So there’s a thousand miners trapped down below now!”
“Man!”
“Wow!”
“And then the dinosaur saw a train goin’ by, and he picked it up and threw it in the river!”
Richie said, “How big is he?”
“Big as our house,” I said.
Everybody looked at the tent wall in the direction of our house.
“Wow,” said Peter.
“Know Phoenixville?” I said.
Timmy spoke up behind me. “Yeah. I know it.”
> “It ate half the people in Phoenixville.”
Kippy squeaked, “It like people?”
“I guess so,” I said. “Must’ve been hungry. Ever hear of Littleton Lake Park?”
“Yeah,” says Timmy.
“It got thirsty and drank Littleton Lake and all the people swimming in it.”
The three of us had to turn away so the little kids wouldn’t see us cracking up. When I could talk straight again, I said, “And y’know where they said it’s heading for?”
Timmy and Kippy are both gawking up at me, their eyes and their mouths wide open. Finally Timmy says, his voice all raspy, “No.”
“Avon Oaks,” I said.
I couldn’t stand it looking at their faces. Especially Kippy’s in that Phillies cap. I kept my eyes aimed at Richie and Peter. “Yeah,” I said, “they lost track of it in the dark. They don’t know where it is exactly. Except it was last seen heading for Avon Oaks.” I winked at Richie. “They said it roars.”
“Hey,” Richie goes, “like this?” He gives a roar. A pretty dinky roar.
“Nah,” I said. “Like this.” And I do one just like before. The little kids are down there grabbing at our legs.
“Yeah!” goes Richie. “That’s it!”
“That’s what?” I say.
“Know when you went out to go to the bathroom?”
“Yeah.”
“Know when you were coming back?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, just before you came back, we heard a sound like that.” He looked down at the little kids. “Didn’t we?”
They were just a pair of open mouths now. They both nodded.
“See?” said Richie. “We all heard it.”
“Well,” I said, “what do you think it means?”
The three of us kind of looked from one to the other. For some strange reason, none of us wanted to be the one that came right out and said it. Then, up comes Timmy’s voice: “The dinosaur’s here.”
I swear, the way he said it, I almost believed it myself.
I said, “Nah. There ain’t no dinosaur out there. I was just out there. There’s nothin’ to be scared of.”
“Then go ahead out again,” Richie says.
“Okay. Gimme the lantern.”
I grabbed the lantern and went out and walked around the yard, pretending to look for a dinosaur. They were all watching from the flap.
On the way back I called, “See? Toldja. Nothing to be scared of. Nothin’ here but lightning bugs.” Then, as I walked into the bare patch, I pretended to trip and fall.
Richie called out, “what happened?”
I groaned, “I fell in a hole.”
“You okay?”
“I sprained my ankle.” I gave a good grunt. “I can’t get up. I need some help.”
When they came out Richie pretended to help me up. “Man!” I said. “That was a big hole. I didn’t know we had a hole there.”
“You didn’t,” said Richie. “You didn’t have a hole there. I know your yard good as my own. There was never no hole there.”
“Well, there is now,” I said. And as I said it I swung the lantern out real slow over the patch. The lantern light was bigger than the flashlight light, and it covered the whole patch.
“That ain’t no hole,” Richie says.
“Peter,” I say, “what’s it look like?”
Peter pretended to study it. “Looks like a footprint to me.”
“An animal footprint,” I said.
“A bi-i-ig animal,” goes Richie.
I gulped. “My God! It’s the dinosaur!”
Kippy squeals, “Pee-er.”
“You goin’ in now?” Timmy looks up at me.
I pretend to think. “Nah, guess not. I better stay out here.”
“Okay,” Timmy goes.
“Okay what?”
“I’m stayin’ too.”
“Pee-er,” Kippy squeals.
I pounded my fist into my palm. “Dinosaur or no dinosaur,” I growled, “I’m stayin’.”
“Me too,” goes Timmy.
“I don’t care how big he is.”
“Me too.”
“I don’t care how many people he ate.”
“Me too.”
“I don’t care if he’s right there on the other side of the house, even.”
Timmy gets behind me. “Me too.”
That’s enough for Kippy. He really starts up. He’s wailing away: “Pee-er! Pee-er! Yet’s go! I’m cared! Yet’s go home! Yet’s go home!”
We tried to quiet him down, but he just got worse. He kept looking at the footprint and yelling and pulling on Peter. He pulled him out to the middle of the yard. I could hear Peter trying to tell him it was just a joke, but Kippy wouldn’t listen. He was hysterical: “Yet’s go home! Yet’s go home!”
Peter didn’t have a choice. He had to take him home. By this time Ham and my mom were at the window of my room, wanting to know what was going on. We said Peter and Kippy had to go. My mother said they couldn’t walk home alone this late. Somebody would have to drive them. Ham drove them.
When they left, my mother tried to weasel out of Timmy what happened. He tried not to tell, but then he caved in. She blew her stack. She made him go in. She said the only reason she was letting me stay out was because of Richie.
By now she was down at the back door. Her favorite place to holler at me from. I tried to tell her it was just a joke. I was just giving Timmy a little lesson so he wouldn’t take my dinosaurs anymore, I explained.
“I’ll be the one to give any lessons around here,” she goes. “You’re not his judge and jury.”
“Well, you never do anything to him,” I told her. “I wanted him to stop stealing my dinosaurs, so I did something about it. He could smash every one of my dinosaurs and nobody would do a thing.”
She wagged her finger at me. “You just take care of yourself, buster. I’ll take care of him.”
I hate being called buster. I said out loud what I only thought before. “Yeah. He can ruin my dinosaurs and nothing ever happens to him, but if I throw some old crown across a room I’m the worst criminal there ever was.”
“Enjoy yourself tonight,” she said. “You won’t be going out after dinner for a week.”
“What!”
“And keep your voice down. You’re getting too smart, boy. Maybe you should’ve been suspended for more than one day. You’re getting too much mouth.”
The door slammed shut.
Back in the tent, Richie shut up while I fumed and cursed. We laid down, and I was still fuming. Then, when I finally ran out of gas, he says, “Glad I don’t have a little brother.”
“You oughta be,” I told him. “They ruin your whole damn life.”
Richie turned out the lantern. “Night,” he said.
“Night,” I said.
I thought about how true it was, what I said about little brothers. Because they’re little they get excused for everything. They don’t stick to their own kind. They don’t know when they’re not wanted. You can’t get rid of them. It’s impossible. You can’t even escape from them. They take your stuff. And what’s worse, they treat it like it’s theirs. The only way you can keep your stuff away from them is to lock it up twenty-four hours a day—and then you couldn’t use it. They’ll leave your baseball glove out in the rain. And to top it all off, you can’t even play a trick on them. The whole thing winds up backfiring and all you get is yourself grounded for a week.
“Your whole damn life,” I whispered into the dark.
In the yard, on the other side of the mosquito netting, the lightning bugs were blinking away like nothing in the world was wrong.
During dinner the next night the phone rang. My mother answered it. She listened for a couple seconds, then she gasped. Her eyes bulged. “How?” she said. She listened some more, then hung up. She stared around the table at each of us, with glassy eyes. She couldn’t seem to find the right one to stare at.
“Kippy K
im was just killed in a car accident,” she said.
HEADLIGHTS
WE WALKED TO THE FUNERAL HOME FOR THE VIEWING. I picked up Richie. Then the two of us picked up Calvin. It seemed funny not picking up Peter too. Dugan didn’t show up.
The parking lot was full.
We got scared at first—the people coming out and hanging around the door, crying.
A man in a suit said, “Good evening. Kim or Miraglia?”
I didn’t understand. “Herkimer,” I said. “Jason.”
He seemed confused. He looked at a piece of paper. Looked at us. “Are you boys here to see Philip Kim?”
“No,” I said.
Calvin jabbed me. “Yes we are. That’s his real name.”
The man turned sideways and held out his arm. “To the right, boys.”
The place was mobbed. Where there weren’t people there were flowers. It looked like Hawaii.
We kind of hung back for a while. Looking. We all knew exactly where Kippy was—up there in the middle of all the flowers—but I guess we wanted to think this was just another room.
Most of the people I never saw before. There were a couple teachers I recognized from grade school, even though Kippy didn’t start kindergarten yet My mother was up at the front, kneeling, talking to Mrs. Kim.
We could only see Peter’s back. He was standing at the coffin. He didn’t move, just looked down. Other people kept filing up and looking and praying and moving away. But Peter just stayed there. Some of them touched his shoulder when they passed. He didn’t seem to notice.
Some of the people crossed themselves. They were Catholics.
I whispered to Calvin, “What are they?”
“Who?”
“The Kims.”
“You mean Korean or American?”
“Their religion.”
Calvin didn’t know. Neither did Richie. But a grownup right in back of us leaned down and whispered, “Presbyterian.”
We hung back as long as we could. First one of us would say, “You ready?” Then another would say it. But all three of us were never ready at the same time.
But finally we had to. We waited till there was no line, then we went.
It was like being on stage. Everybody looking at us looking at Kippy. If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t have thought anything was wrong with him, except he had a suit on. Even his Phillies cap was there. And some toys. He looked like he was sleeping.